


Swallow Me Down

by UnderWickedSky



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Control Issues, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-20 06:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderWickedSky/pseuds/UnderWickedSky
Summary: “Go to Prince Kasef’s tent,” says Viren, “And do whatever he says.”Soren does. He doesn't enjoy it.
Relationships: Kasef/Soren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	Swallow Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my TDP buddies - at this point, I'm not sure whose idea anything is anymore - [saha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saha/pseuds/saha) and [kai. ](https://twitter.com/Kai15210)
> 
> Warning: mind the tags. This fic depicts non consensual sexual acts, and nasty language, please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

“Go to Prince Kasef’s tent,” says Viren, “And do whatever he says.”

“What?” asks Soren.

His father hadn’t even looked up from the table where the map is spread out. Claudia is leaned over it with him, lining up little figurines to represent their army. Soren had assumed that he would be called to do something similar, or to help work out strategy as a kind of apology for having being snapped at earlier when they were on the road.

But no.

Saleer is smirking over in the corner. Soren makes a face at him.

“Are you deaf?” snaps Viren. “Or do you just not comprehend even the simplest instructions?”

“I don’t know… a heads up on what he wants would be nice?”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants. _Whatever_ he wants, you’ll do, do you understand?”

Soren frowns but he nods. This isn’t exactly how he’d hoped to contribute but if Kasef wants something, he supposes he can try to help. Maybe he wants a sparring partner?

His father doesn’t say anything else, nor even look up as Soren looks down at his clasped hands. The silence stretches on and on and on without even a dismissal. So Soren leaves.

Commanders’ tents are generally all in the same vicinity. Viren’s, the King’s Tent, is the largest. It’s functionally two rooms, complete with rugs, planning table and couches in one area, and an _actual_ bed in the other. Soren’s is nearby, the standard accommodations for a Crownguard, something he can carry on his back. It’s enough to sleep in, just enough to sit up in. On the bright side, he doesn’t have to share with anyone else, so it’s a win in his book. 

In terms of size and splendour, Kasef’s is somewhere in the middle. He has attendants to carry his stuff and set it up for him. From the outside it looks…nice. Soren walks back and forth in front of it a few times. It’s silk, at least by the doors, with thicker, waterproof material for the roof and sides. There’s nowhere to knock.

He gnaws at his lower lip.

“Hey Soren,” says a soldier as she passes by. “You okay?”

“Oh, hey Alma,” he sighs.

She stops. Beside her, Lucas stops as well. Both of them look up at him, frowning in concern. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says. He is. Nothing bad has happened. He doesn’t even know why he’s so nervous. Probably because Kasef had been such an ass earlier today and he’s not exactly eager to see him on his own. “Just gotta go talk to Kasef and he’s kinda… difficult.”

“Oh, I get you,” says Alma, sympathetically, and pats his shoulder. “These Neolandia guys are all kinda like that.”

“I get that his Dad… or his Mom or someone… got hurt. So they’re upset about that. I would be too.”

“Yeah,” says Alma. “Do you want us to wait for you?”

“No,” says Soren. “It’s okay, thanks guys.”

They leave. He doesn’t want to continue lingering and attract the attention of more guards (friendly or not) so, with a quick inhale, he puffs himself up and nods once. This’ll be fine. Approach everything with a sense of confidence and it’ll be fine.

He tries to make a knocking noise as he goes in. It’s more of a slapping sound, with an open palm against the thicker part of the tent. “Kasef?” He asks as he enters, poking his head in. It’s dark in there, lit faintly by the candles dotted around the single compartment. Kasef is reclined in a very low, lavish looking chair. In his hand, a glass of something dark.

“It’s Your Highness to you,” he says.

Soren lets the door flap fall shut behind him. He clears his throat. “Your Highness,” he amends. Then, because he has no idea what to say next, “How’s it going?”

Kasef visibly rolls his eyes. “So informal.”

“Do I need to be formal?”

“When you’re addressing a prince, you do.”

“Technically,” says Soren, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m a prince too.”

For the first time since Soren’s met him, Kasef smiles. It’s not a happy smile though, it’s a mean smile. It’s a smile that says that Kasef thinks Soren is stupid. He’s used to that expression but not how aggressive this one is.

“So, how _is_ it going, Your Highness?”

“It’s going well,” says Kasef. “Better now that you’re here.”

Soren is surprised to hear that, after all that Kasef had said to him earlier, “Really?”

“His Majesty said that you would do anything I asked,” says Kasef, and the smile gets wider and meaner. “So of course.”

Soren swallows. “Okay… what do you want me to do?”

“Take off your armour.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me,” snaps Kasef. “I didn’t think it was necessary to say but I suppose that should have been your first order. Do as you’re told and don’t ask any questions.”

Soren looks at him. Kasef is an asshole. That’s something he already knew. But his Dad likes him. Wants Soren to be more like him. Likes him enough that Soren has to be his servant for the evening.

He could still leave, but then his Dad would be mad at him. Or…even _more_ mad at him anyway, if that’s possible. Whatever Kasef wants isn’t going to be anything compared to how Viren gets when he’s angry.

With a sigh Soren roughly yanks his belt forward to open the buckle. Kasef watches him smugly over the rim of the glass from which he’s drinking. It looks like it might be wine, which seems foolish to Soren. They might be fighting tomorrow. Why would anyone drink the night before a battle? You’re not exactly at the top of your game if you’re hungover. Even a little bit of alcohol can make you dehydrated.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just follows instructions.

He puts his sword down on the table in here, then unbuckles his shoulder armour, lifting off his spaulders and gorget all in one piece. The cape comes with it, of course, and he ducks around it as he puts the whole thing down, neatly, on top of the sword. He’d like to put it on a stand but the only one in here is presently occupied by what must be Kasef’s own, very ornate set of armour, and he doesn’t want to ask Kasef if he has another after the reaction to his last question.

He unbuckles the second belt around his waist to remove the tassets covering his hips and then leans forward all the way down to touch his toes. His greaves come off, along with his sabatons, and he lines them up neatly beneath the table. The final pieces are his bracers, and he pulls open the tight buckle on the right one at his wrist with his teeth. He stacks the two of them, one on top of the other, and puts them beside the rest of the armour.

That done, he grips one wrist behind his back in his other hand, straightening up to stand at ease, though there is certainly nothing relaxed about any of this situation. He feels naked, even though he’s still fully clothed. He’s soft, vulnerable, like a turtle without its shell.

“Good,” says Kasef, “Very good.”

Alright. Well, that’s a good sign.

“You look a lot smaller without your shoulder guards.”

“Most people do,” says Soren. He’d thought he and Kasef were a similar size, but without the armour it’s clear Kasef’s got a few pounds on him. Whatever. He can still take him. “So do you wanna spar?”

“What did I say about asking questions?”

“To… not…” mumbles Soren. He flexes his hands.

Kasef drinks more wine. Finishes the entire glass, slowly and deliberately. It takes ten minutes. Ten minutes of Soren standing there, straight and tensed, in the middle of Prince Kasef’s tent. Ten minutes of being stared at while he does, effectively, nothing.

It’s very uncomfortable.

“Do you…” starts Soren, but trails off under Kasef’s gaze. No questions. He bites at his lip. Another thirty seconds go by.

Kasef smiles up at him. “Come here.”

Soren does, stopping at the edge of the rug beneath Kasef's feet. He’s looming over Kasef like this, his shadow cast over him by the candles flickering behind him, but the sense he gets is not one of superiority. It’s almost the opposite. Actually, Kasef is looking up at him with such a sense of confidence that Soren is certain it’s the opposite.

“Soren, have you ever had a girlfriend or a boyfriend?”

“Huh? Why?”

Kasef looks disgusted. Rolls his eyes. “You can’t follow even the simplest instructions, can you? Just answer the fucking question.”

Soren looks at his feet, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Never had time,” he says. “I guess.”

A chuckle. “Too busy with intellectual pursuits?”

“No?” says Soren, quizzically. Maybe that had been sarcasm, “With training, mostly.”

A sound like a scoff, and then, amused, “So does that mean you’ve never had any sexual experiences?”

Maybe this is just going to be a really… _really_ weird guy talk session? Maybe Kasef doesn’t have anyone to talk to about this stuff because he’s a prince and princes have to be all formal and stuff with people who _aren’t_ princes. Now that Soren is a prince, though, they’re on the same level. Kind of. “No, I mean, I’ve fooled around a few times. Nothing serious but… yeah. How about you, do you have anyone back home?”

Kasef smiles again. “Soren, get on your knees.”

Soren does, figuring Kasef probably wants them closer to the same height for this sort of conversation. He isn’t sure whether to sit up or settle back with his thighs pressed to his calves, so he just kind of ends up hovering in between. It’s a good leg and core workout if nothing else.

Another few minutes ticks by. Kasef isn’t even drinking or doing anything this time. He’s just looking at him, through lidded eyes. He’s slowly taking him in, a little at a time. Soren’s skin crawls and his muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s not very good at being patient.

“Lean forward,” says Kasef.

Soren does.

As he gets closer, Kasef reaches out and fists his hands in the back of Soren’s shirt and yanks his shoulders forward and down.

“Kasef?” blurts Soren, pulled off balance. Suddenly he’s lower than Kasef, who has sat up straight.

“Shut up,” says Kasef, pushing Soren’s face into his thigh. Soren can no longer look up at his face, and looking straight ahead means looking at Kasef’s crotch, so he screws his eyes shut. A hand clenches in his hair, hard enough to hurt, and Soren can’t help but make a questioning noise. This is bizarre. Truly bizarre.

He’s dragged forward a little, and he hears Kasef, low and raspy and almost too quiet to hear, “You’re a little slut, aren’t you?”

“No,” mumbles Soren, very quietly, suddenly extremely aware of what’s happening. He’s heard the word before, used in a very mean way to describe someone who has sexual relations when they shouldn’t. It couldn’t apply to him though, that wouldn’t make sense. He’s fooled around with a couple of girls but it had always been very nice and, dare he say it, discreet.

It definitely doesn’t apply to this situation. If anyone is the slut, wouldn’t it be Kasef? Isn’t he the one making this all sexual? Soren had just wanted to… he’d thought that…

“Yes,” Kasef hisses. “Tell me that you are.”

Soren tries to shake his head but the grip on his hair is too tight and his cheek is bracketed against Kasef’s thigh on one side.

“You’re to do what I say,” Kasef reminds him. Soren wants to say he’s sure that his father didn’t mean it like this. But he can’t be…sure… His Dad had said to do _anything_ Kasef said. And his Dad has told him to do worse in the past.

This isn’t worse than killing people. To say something means nothing. It’s just…a lie.

“Well?” asks Kasef. “What are you?”

Soren swallows. It’s just him and Kasef here after all, “I’m a slut.”

Suddenly, Kasef’s other hand bumps him in the forehead and Soren opens his eyes to see him hastily yanking down the front of his pants. He isn’t allowed to draw back, the grip on his hair tight and bruising.

“Wait,” he says. “Hang on a second!”

“Open your mouth,” says Kasef.

“No,” says Soren, “I don’t want to do that.”

“What did you think was happening when I told you to get to your knees?” asks Kasef. “What did you expect?”

“I - I don’t know!” squeaks Soren. He’s shut his eyes again. Kasef’s — is too close to his face. He feels Kasef pull him forward a little, feels the smooth head of it nudging against his lower lip, smearing sticky stuff over his mouth.

It’s not like Soren doesn’t know exactly what this is. He’s an 18-year-old boy. Man. He’s a man. He knows now what this is and what Kasef wants. He hadn’t connected the dots before because… who… does this? Without the other person wanting it? Why would anyone want to be so horrible about it? Soren hasn’t had a girlfriend before, true, but even his dalliances had been full of affection. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Affection? Love, once you’re married?

“Open your _fucking_ mouth,” grunts Kasef, yanking _hard_ on Soren’s hair. “Do it you little whore.”

“I’m not —” Kasef yanks him forward as soon as he tries to talk, jamming fingers into the joint of his jaw to keep it open as he thrusts his cock into his mouth. Soren gags immediately. Nothing lets up for his comfort.

It tastes… salty. Bitter. Soren tries to pull back but he has absolutely no leverage unless he wants to straight-up _attack_ the guy. He could… bite… He could hit Kasef in his junk - it’s right there. He could wrench one leg to the side. If Kasef isn’t flexible it would hurt —

And then… Kasef gets him all the way down and holds him there. Soren’s thoughts, usually a well-oiled (if one-track) machine, screech to a halt as he realizes he can’t even breathe in through his nose. Kasef’s dick is big enough to plug the back of his throat.

Soren’s fists both clench in Kasef’s pants at the knee, his eyes watering as his body involuntarily heaves with the panic that being without air evokes in all creatures.

“Crying already,” sneers Kasef.

Soren can’t do anything but choke in response.

Kasef lets go of the back of his head and Soren falls away, gasping, thick gooey strands of saliva breaking as he tips his chin back to try to get away from the offending appendage. He coughs, but the relief is short lived.

“Pathetic,” says Kasef, slapping at Soren’s cheek, hard, with the hand that had been in his hair. “Get it together and go again.”

“I don’t want to,” says Soren again. This time it comes out as a croak.

“No one cares,” says Kasef.

Soren knows that. Kasef obviously doesn’t care. Neither does his father, who had sent him down here. If he went back and told him he’d failed to please the prince, his dad would have his hide. Saleer would probably laugh at him. Claudia… Claudia wouldn’t like this, that he’s sure of. But he’s also sure that he wouldn’t want to involve her in a situation like this. There are some things you don’t ask your baby sister for help with.

This is definitely one of them.

Maybe it would be better if he were in control, so as he sees Kasef’s hand begin to hover over his head, his cock dripping wet and twitching where it bobs beside his cheek, Soren quickly sits himself up and carefully takes it into his mouth. Halfway down is where it stops being comfortable, so that’s as deep as he goes, but he tries to make up for it with motion.

It works too.

“Ahh, fuck,” groans Kasef, so deep and so loud that it nearly surprises Soren into stopping. It sounds blissful, like he’s been waiting a long time for this. Like… sinking into a bath after a long day. Like eating a first meal after many hours spent ravenous.

Soren swallows the spit that’s gathering in his mouth and sets a rhythm. Think of it rationally.It’s like when he jerks off. A nice, smooth, steady rhythm feels good. And making it feel good for Kasef will make it end sooner for Soren.

“That’s it,” says Kasef, and the hand is back in Soren’s hair. Gentle, this time. “Go deeper.”

Soren tries but there isn’t much more he can do without gagging. So he uses his hand to get the rest. The stuff with his hand is easy. He’s done that to himself a million times.

“I knew it,” sighs the man above him. Soren chances a glance up. Kasef isn’t looking back down at him, his head is tipped back all the way. “I knew you weren’t as innocent as you pretended.”

Soren drops his gaze. He doesn’t want to meet Kasef’s eyes. He kind of wants to go and… be alone and just… switch off his brain and go to sleep. He feels small and foolish and humiliated. Weak. He feels like…

He doesn’t know. He just wants it over.

“I’m going to come,” announces Kasef suddenly, his fist wrenching Soren’s hair, “Swallow it.”

He doesn’t really give Soren much of a choice. Between his iron grip on Soren’s head and the force with which his come hits the back of Soren’s throat, there isn’t really an option to do anything else but swallow. Pre-cum hadn’t tasted that bad. _Actual_ come tastes a thousand times worse and he struggles to breathe shaky breaths through his nose in-between gulps.

At last, it’s done, and Kasef lets go of him. Soren falls back, coughing and wiping desperately at his mouth with a sleeve as Kasef smirks down at him, cowered in the space between his knees.

“Should have saved a little for your face,” he says, as he leans back, using both hands to tuck himself back into his pants. “You would look good covered in it.”

Soren’s not sure what to say to that. _Thank you?_

“Of course you swallow it down so greedily that I doubt there would be anything left to decorate you with,” Kasef ruffles Soren’s hair, then gets up.

“I don’t…” mumbles Soren, at last lowering his forearm from his mouth. “You told me to swallow it.”

“Doubt I needed to.”

Soren can hear Kasef somewhere behind him, the quiet clink of what must be the wine glass as he refills it. Soren doesn’t know what to do. Does he stay here? Get up? He wants so desperately to leave.

“Your father says it is another few days to the Spire,” Kasef says eventually.

“Does he?” rasps Soren. He hadn’t known that. He doesn’t know any of the plan.

“There’s a desert, we have to go around it. To go straight through would mean certain death.”

Is Kasef trying to have a conversation now? After what he just did? Soren had been game to talk, twenty minutes ago. Now he just kind of wants to go and throw up. “Ah,” is what he says.

A hand lands atop his head. It takes everything in him not to flinch from its sudden weight. “It means we have time for another few… sessions, on our way there.”

Soren goes rigid. His blood feels like ice. Kasef wants to do it again?

“Well,” says Soren, “Um. I’m going to be busy. Making sure our troops are ready.”

“I doubt you’ll be needed for that,” chuckles Kasef. “See you tomorrow, Soren.”

Soren looks down at the rug he’s still kneeling on. There’s nothing he wants less than to return here.

Except for his Dad to be angry with him.


End file.
